Sorry for the late post! Please see the date in the title for when this was written. Internet availability is spotty to say the least!
A week and a half into this adventure and I feel like I have been here for a month. The first week we spent at Ciudad de Saber (City of Knowledge) in Panama City for an exhaustive orientation about Peace Corps rules and regulations. It seemed an oddly appropriate place from which to be introduced to the country; up until 2000 the area was in the canal-zone, which was a 10 mile wide strip around the canal that the US government controlled. The compound is an old US military base (I have heard there are about 15 in the old canal zone) which now houses a handful of government buildings and some international organizations (like the Peace Corps HQ).
After our first week of orientation, we went to live with our host families in towns near by the city. The Sustainable Agricultural Systems (SAS) volunteers are staying in a town called Santa Clara and the Environmental Health (EH) volunteers in a town called Santa Rita. Lot of saints to keep track of here.
My host family is great. I live with Mamma Dilsa – yes, she introduced herself as Momma – and Senor Geronimo. He did not introduce himself as Poppa, but I try it our sometimes just to test the water. He doesn’t seem apposed. One of their daughters, Naira, lives about 20 yards down the hill with her three kids: Ana, Astrik and Antonio. Ana loves that her name is the same as my sisters. She likes to draw pictures of Ana, Anna, and myself together. Pretty freaking adorable.
The great thing about kids is that you don’t have to speak a language well to interact with them. Ana and Astrik are nine-year-old twins so they are happy hanging on me and getting piggyback rides. I showed them shoulder back rides and that was a terrible decision. They like them. A lot. They were really enjoying helping me plant seeds from my shoulders and my neck is still sore two days later.
A week and a half into this adventure and I feel like I have been here for a month. The first week we spent at Ciudad de Saber (City of Knowledge) in Panama City for an exhaustive orientation about Peace Corps rules and regulations. It seemed an oddly appropriate place from which to be introduced to the country; up until 2000 the area was in the canal-zone, which was a 10 mile wide strip around the canal that the US government controlled. The compound is an old US military base (I have heard there are about 15 in the old canal zone) which now houses a handful of government buildings and some international organizations (like the Peace Corps HQ).
After our first week of orientation, we went to live with our host families in towns near by the city. The Sustainable Agricultural Systems (SAS) volunteers are staying in a town called Santa Clara and the Environmental Health (EH) volunteers in a town called Santa Rita. Lot of saints to keep track of here.
My host family is great. I live with Mamma Dilsa – yes, she introduced herself as Momma – and Senor Geronimo. He did not introduce himself as Poppa, but I try it our sometimes just to test the water. He doesn’t seem apposed. One of their daughters, Naira, lives about 20 yards down the hill with her three kids: Ana, Astrik and Antonio. Ana loves that her name is the same as my sisters. She likes to draw pictures of Ana, Anna, and myself together. Pretty freaking adorable.
The great thing about kids is that you don’t have to speak a language well to interact with them. Ana and Astrik are nine-year-old twins so they are happy hanging on me and getting piggyback rides. I showed them shoulder back rides and that was a terrible decision. They like them. A lot. They were really enjoying helping me plant seeds from my shoulders and my neck is still sore two days later.
For the next three months I will be living here while completing my training. I have four hours of language training in the morning, then an hour for lunch, then four hours of technical training after lunch. The language skills are not progressing as fast as I had hoped. I also have had many opportunities to think about just how bad my communication skills are. Momma Dilsa and Senor Geronimo are both big talkers, and they love to tell stories. I, unfortunately, pretty much never understand what’s going on. I do have a pretty good ability to read someone’s facial expressions and base my body language off of what I see. If they look like they are telling me something that bothered them, I will do a little bit of a brow furrow and look troubled. Sometimes I will throw in an “en serio?” when their pitch reaches that point where you can tell they just made an important, but somewhat, surprising point.
This strategy is counterproductive because it gives the impression that I understand more than I do. Sometimes I am expected to contribute something, at which point I am pretty screwed. Not only can I not effectively structure a thoughtful sentence, but I don’t know what we are talking about. Both are pretty significant barriers to a good conversation partner. Luckily, I am rarely expected to contribute. They seem to be happy recounting the stories while I am stumbling in my head over some basic reflexive verb situation from a few sentences ago. I have no chance. If I am expected to express an opinion, it is usually prompted by the same question: “Si o no?” I have learned the correct answer is always yes. There is usually a religious point to the stories and my role is usually answering that question as a way to drive that point home.
The problem with my strategy was beautifully demonstrated the other night when the local school was having its anniversary party of sorts (I did not know this was what was going on before going). Naira and Momma Dilsa asked me if I wanted to go to a sort of “march of lights” with the family (or so I thought) and I said yes. After making myself presentable, the girls, who were done up in perfect matching twin outfits, came running up to the house. I began to realize that it was only me and the kids going. Antonio (who is 12) came too and acted as a sort of guide, leading me in the appropriate direction while I carried the girls. They love those shoulder rides. When we got to the school, I realized that essentially the whole town was present and I stood out not only because of my skin color but because I was the only person who did not speak Spanish. After a few minutes it dawned on me that the school used the anniversary as a sort of PTSA meeting, parent teacher night and ice cream social. At one point I found myself in the girls classroom with the teacher. She did not just want to tell stories. She wanted to ask questions and have me answer them with more then an emphatic “Si!” It was pretty ugly.
This strategy is counterproductive because it gives the impression that I understand more than I do. Sometimes I am expected to contribute something, at which point I am pretty screwed. Not only can I not effectively structure a thoughtful sentence, but I don’t know what we are talking about. Both are pretty significant barriers to a good conversation partner. Luckily, I am rarely expected to contribute. They seem to be happy recounting the stories while I am stumbling in my head over some basic reflexive verb situation from a few sentences ago. I have no chance. If I am expected to express an opinion, it is usually prompted by the same question: “Si o no?” I have learned the correct answer is always yes. There is usually a religious point to the stories and my role is usually answering that question as a way to drive that point home.
The problem with my strategy was beautifully demonstrated the other night when the local school was having its anniversary party of sorts (I did not know this was what was going on before going). Naira and Momma Dilsa asked me if I wanted to go to a sort of “march of lights” with the family (or so I thought) and I said yes. After making myself presentable, the girls, who were done up in perfect matching twin outfits, came running up to the house. I began to realize that it was only me and the kids going. Antonio (who is 12) came too and acted as a sort of guide, leading me in the appropriate direction while I carried the girls. They love those shoulder rides. When we got to the school, I realized that essentially the whole town was present and I stood out not only because of my skin color but because I was the only person who did not speak Spanish. After a few minutes it dawned on me that the school used the anniversary as a sort of PTSA meeting, parent teacher night and ice cream social. At one point I found myself in the girls classroom with the teacher. She did not just want to tell stories. She wanted to ask questions and have me answer them with more then an emphatic “Si!” It was pretty ugly.